


tunnel vision

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas finally goes clothes shopping. Dean is unprepared for the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tunnel vision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wondersmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wondersmith/gifts).



> for iva, belatedly for her birthday
> 
> (and written with no small amount of visual inspiration taken from [here](http://streetetiquette.com/2011/06/13/accessories-are-a-neccessity-suspenders-braces/)!)

  
Considering that for most of their acquaintance Dean had known Cas in only one outfit, and only because it kinda came with the whole vessel package, he had a strange amount of preconceived notions about what kind of clothes Cas would actually wear were he ever to put thought into dressing himself.

In Dean's head, the Cas of the sartorially endowed future would not be that much unlike himself. He didn't really want to go into the implications of that line of psychology, but yeah, if he thought about it, and he thought about Cas' clothes more than he would likely ever admit, he could easily see Cas dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt that does his chest all the favours. You know, just very practical hunter attire, nothing more.

Of course, Dean himself liked to indulge his more creative inclinations now and then, dapper himself up for a case with a nice suit and tie combo, or whip out the old ironed sweater-vest now and again, but he had a hard time believing that _Cas_ of all people would find enjoyment in the finer things and threads of life. The guy couldn't even  _tie_ a tie, for fuck's sake (forgetting of course, how very eager Dean often was to do it for him). Which was why Dean was  _totally_ unprepared for the sudden epiphany of fashion sense Cas had recently seemed to stumble into.

It all started one day when Cas returned from a grocery run in town, sporting more than one bag of purchases that definitely did not come from a supermarket. Dean was also pretty sure Cas had not left the bunker earlier in the clothes he'd now returned home in, considering the well-worn trench coat was now just peaking out of the top of a nondescript shopping bag clutched in Cas' hands. The old ill-fitting black suit that Dean admittedly did find some charm in was nowhere to be found.

Instead, Cas showed up at the bunker's door dressed in an outfit that could only be described by Dean's rapidly short-circuiting mind as  _stunning_ .

Gone were the baggy pleats of his old suit pants, newly replaced by a cleanly cut, deep navy pair that hung at his hips in a more than complementary way. Tucked into them was a cream coloured henley that Dean almost would want to steal for himself if it didn't look so damned good on Cas, with sleeves rolled up his forearms and collar opened  _just so_ . Supporting the ensemble was a pair of burgundy-brown suspenders, and it was all Dean could do not to pull Cas by the straps towards him right there and then.

But all that had to wait. First, a few rounds of petulant indignation on Dean's part over the fact that he had not been forewarned about this life-changing event and allowed to prepare his body accordingly.

“Where did you even _get_ all this shit? You said you were going out for bacon and beer!” Dean balks.

“Sam lent me some money, and actually there are several stores in town—”

“ _Sam?_ ” Dean interjects. _“_ So what, he's your—your  _sugar daddy_ now?”

“He is neither my father nor made of confectionary,” Cas retorts, in that terrifying way of his where Dean can never be sure if he's really dryly joking or is just that sincerely literal. Dean swallows his nervous laughter, desperately trying not to look like the jealous boyfriend in this scenario.

“Well, that's just—that's just  _great_ for you two I guess,” he grumbles, before wiping a hand down his face, half embarrassment at himself, and half dismay.

Oh man, he is  _so_ the jealous boyfriend, and he didn't even get the benefit of getting to date Cas first.

“Sam seemed to be very sure you would appreciate my interest in buying new clothes,” Cas says slowly, eyes narrowing with curiosity. He cocks his head to the side slightly. “Was he wrong?” he ponders somewhat rhetorically, with a dangerous note of astuteness in his tone as he approaches the truth of Dean's momentary freak out.

Well, shit.

“Well, I didn't carry around that coat for a year just to have you get rid of it,” Dean says instead, crossing his arms of his chest defensively as Cas sets his shopping bags down.

“I've made sure to bring it home with me, clearly I have no intention of being rid of it,” Cas points out.

Fucking logic.

“I just didn't think it went with this ensemble,” he continues to explain.

“What do  _you_ even know about  _'ensembles'_ anyway?” Dean less asks and more accuses. “ _Wait,_ did Sam break into my collection of  _GQ_ for you?” He'd really thought he had that shit better hidden.

“I'm not aware of what ' _GQs'_ are, but no, I am perfectly aware of the definition of the word 'ensemble' all on my own, thank you,” Cas replies somewhat testily, turning away from Dean to bring what groceries he did manage to get into the kitchen.

Dean promptly drops the subject as Cas swiftly storms out in that silent and stoic way of his, half out of a distracting preoccupation with watching Cas' ass as he goes, and half out of a masochistic desire to let himself stew in sexual frustration a little longer. He'd been going on 5 long years with Cas, what was a little longer, right?

“A little longer” proved to be only a couple of days before Dean snapped, but those few days seemed to stretch on for an eternity for how handsome Cas continually dared to looked, in a series of outfits that proved that, along with suspenders, he'd also invested in  _waistcoats_ . Waistcoats! Dean was rapidly starting to think this was not, indeed, some elaborate (and successful) seduction plan on Cas' part, but rather an horrific torture scheme on his brother's.

The breaking point was, however,  _collectively_ reached when, as suddenly as his dress sense had sharpened, Cas threw open the door of Dean's room one day after they had both just returned from a taxing hunt.

“I don't know what it is about you, Dean,” he begins, fists clenched at his sides and face slightly flushed. “When I first moved in, you seemed as elated as I was to have me close to you again, but yet you have kept me at arm's distance since.”

Dean just stares, like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, before regrettably remembering how tense and awkward he'd been all night when they'd been out hunting down a ghost. “I—I've wanted to give you your space, man, you seemed to want it,” he explains. “You know, as you find your sea legs down here. Having your own room, going off clothes shopping with Sam,” he begins to recall, before Cas huffs and cuts him off.

“And  _that_ ! What is it about my clothes that disturbs you? You yourself seem to enjoy dressing up when you allow yourself to, am I not allowed the same pleasure?”

“No! I, uh, I mean yeah, obviously,” Dean fumbles, before mumbling quietly,  _“You, uh, look great.”_

“What?” Cas frowns, evidently not hearing.

“I  _said_ you look great. The clothes are great, they're great on you, you're great. And stuff,” Dean waves his hands in Cas' general direction a bit pathetically, as he scrambles for what little dignity he has left.

Despite the strenuously extracted compliment, Cas continues to glare at him. “Then why have you glared at me for the past several days as if this very body and the clothes it wears offends you?”

“ _What?_ ” It's Dean's turn to object in confusion. “Dude, I was checking you out!” he very nearly yells, which quickly forces a dead silence upon his crowd of one.

This was  _not_ how Dean had wanted to unwind after a day of almost dying. 

He tries desperately to look anywhere at Cas' face, who, he thought, must surely be either glaring angrily at him still, or gazing pityingly. It was sad that he wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

After what must be the longest minute of Dean's life, Cas sighs heavily. “You, Dean Winchester, are positively _infuriating_ ,” is all he says.

Well, anger it is, Dean guesses. “Listen, Cas, I'm sorry—”

“I've wondered for a very long time if I'd ever hear you say that,” he continues, ignoring Dean's attempt at last-minute reconciliation, which throws Dean immediately.

“What?” he asks, for something like the 50 th time this night, it seems.

“Admittedly, I was unsure if it was my  _vessel_ that repulsed you or simply  _me_ , the second count I could not exactly fault you for—”

“What, Cas no, you're—”

“—after all I've done. But I still hoped.”

“—great,” Dean offers again lamely, arms falling to his sides as he takes in the generous sight of his friend presenting his heart to him. He should have fucking  _known_ .

Dean swallows thickly, stepping forward towards him as his heart beats rapidly in his chest and his palms pool with sweat. “You don't repulse me, Cas,” he admits quietly. His fingers twitch to settle across his friend's clenched jaw, so he does just that.

Raising his hand to cup Cas' face turns more into something of a stroking motion, reminiscent of their one encounter by a forgotten river a world ago, before his hand slides down to rest upon Cas' shoulder. “You pretty much the  _opposite_ of repulse me, so much that it's kinda sad,” he laughs a little to lighten the tender truth of his words.

“We are both sad people, then,” Cas observes, which earns from Dean a genuine chuckle.

“Yeah,” he lowers his voice as he lets a finger slip under the strap of one suspender, and then another. He leans his head in, and right before he capture's Cas' lips in a kiss, whispers: “We kinda are.”

For at least a night, however, Dean can scarcely remember ever being so fucking (a very operative word, in this case)  _incandescently_ happy.


End file.
